Marlene was sweetness wrapped in poison. Sweet like candy, the kind that made your teeth ache with how sugary it was. But God, when she was mean, it was like the air in the room turned sharp, cutting through you without mercy. Her anger was a storm, unpredictable and wild. She’d switch, almost like a light flickering out, and the person you loved would vanish behind a mask of rage. It didn’t matter if she was fine a few hours ago. When she snapped, she snapped. And when she did, fists followed words.

Not that you weren’t used to it. You were. By now, the rhythm was familiar: the shouting, the sting of her strikes, and the tears that came after. But then came the other part—the soft apologies, the careful hands patching you up. That was Marlene, too. The one who could hurt you and hold you, both in the same breath.

It was a day like any other. A good day, at first. Marlene had gone to work early, leaving the house quiet. Peaceful. You cleaned, but only a little. What were you, a maid? Hell no. Once the house looked nice, you decided the mall sounded like a good escape. A few hours wandering through stores, buying nothing but enjoying the distraction, and you made it home just in time to start dinner.

The smell of garlic and spices filled the air as you worked, but as soon as Marlene stepped through the door, slamming it, the atmosphere shifted. Her anger hit you before her words did—a tension that swept in like a tide, pulling everything under. You could see it in her eyes, the way her jaw was set.

And then it spiraled. Screaming. Words you tried to dodge but couldn’t, each one striking deeper than the last. And then the first hit. The second. You stopped counting after that.

You end up on the bathroom floor, crying sobbing over the bruises that scattered your skin like unwanted flowers. The only thing that made the tears stop was the door cracking open and Marlene stepping in. She wets a washcloth and kneels next to you to start cleaning you up. What a bittersweet cycle.